Baptized by Fire
by confusedsarcasm
Summary: SEQUEL to Blood, Sweat, and Tears. death cannot go unpunished. The restored order of the hospital is about to fall to pieces once again unless the doctors of PPTH can find out who is after them, and how to stop him. lots of action;eventual huddy;old team
1. None the Weiser

**Title: **Baptized by Fire

**Status: **WIP; Sequel to previous fic, Blood, Sweat, and Tears

**Rating: **Let's go with **M**, just to give me some leeway. Most of it should stay reasonably **T** though.

**Genre: **Action/Suspense mostly. I'll be hinting at some relationships that I couldn't get to last time and will incorporate them into this fic.

**Time Period:** Almost one month after the events of _blood, sweat and tears_

**A/N**: I've put this sequel off for a long time because I've been so busy, but the episode "last resort" of House stirred up my urge to continue this. Then of course, I was reminded of all the fun I had writing "blood, sweat, and tears" and I just couldn't help myself. I have some great ideas for this and I hope you all will join me for another suspenseful, action packed ride!

For those of you who have forgotten the events of the prequel to this story, don't worry (I did too)

You can either go back and re-read it (or read it for the first time for some of you) or read this short summary I've made specifically for your memory's sake.

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_Previously on "Blood, Sweat, and Tears" :_

PPTH was **taken hostage** while Cuddy was taking a break up on the hospital's roof. The armed men quickly took the hospital hostage while Cuddy attempted to devise an escape plan.

Meanwhile, inside the hospital, things are going from bad to worse as the main gunman, **Michael Wolfe**, grows impatient for the Dean of Medicine's arrival. Cuddy is eventually captured and brought to Michael, just in time to save a hostage's life. The terms of the hold up are arranged and Cuddy must now collect a surgical team **to perform surgery on a high risk patient**—a mere child (son of a former patient, **Jay McKeaver**)

The team meets in the OR (House, Cuddy, Chase, Foreman, and Wilson) and are prevented from operating as the boy decided to take matters into his own hands and gains possession of House's concealed gun. The boy threatens to take his own life, and Cuddy's instincts propel her toward the boy, the action causing a reaction from Michael, **shooting Cuddy in the shoulder**.

This spurs a reaction from House first, as he attacks Michael. The rest of the team joins in against their own gunman and take a beating easily. They are stopped only by the sound of **another gunshot**. The boy had taken his own life. Shock registers in everyone, and Michael stumbles for his escape. House tries to stop him, but his injuries catch up to him as well as the rest of his team.

Michael is on his way out—no consequences. Cuddy tries to stop him by aggravating him and calling him a coward, but it only stalls him momentarily. As Michael exits, Cameron makes her entrance and is pushed aside, but takes an opportunity to trip Michael in his dazed state and the rest of the gunmen.

Before they know it, Cuddy and the rest of the team are looming over them and the **police** have arrived.

The doctors are **treated for their wounds** and later, House finds Cuddy up on the roof. Hesitantly, he asks her (or rather tells her) if she would like to accompany himself and Wilson for a **drink** later. Every thing is relatively back to normal, the only thing bothering Cuddy being the **forewarnings** of Michael as he was arrested.

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**A/N**: Alright, that should be sufficient. Please READ and REVIEW!!! You know the drill!

**Disclaimer:** House, M.D. belongs to David Shore and FOX. I am making no money from this; this is only written for fun.

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"I don't see Wilson anywhere," Cuddy scanned the bar a few blocks down from the hospital for any sign of Wilson and looked back at House expectantly.

"Maybe he's late," offered House lamely, giving a halfhearted attempt at scanning through the bodies in the crowded bar to look for Wilson before bringing his attention back to the woman beside him.

"_We're_ thirty minutes late," negated Cuddy, her tone dropping.

"Oh," said House, feigning surprise. "He must've stood us up," he concluded dismissively. Cuddy narrowed her eyes at House suspiciously. "What a bastard," he added, trying to come off more angry than indifferent as he placed his left hand on Cuddy's right elbow and led her to an open end of the bar.

"What are we doing, House?" asked Cuddy as they settled into their seats.

House gestured for the bartender as he hooked his temporary cane on the edge of the counter. "Right now, we're sitting," stated House in a 'duh' tone, then added, "pretty soon we'll be drinking, then if we're drunk enough, maybe we'll go back to my place and—"

"Fuck!" An obviously drunken man spilled his drink into Cuddy's lap and the now empty glass shattered on the floor at Cuddy's feet. The homeless looking man offered his slurred apologies though a messy goatee and attempted to wipe at Cuddy's soaked jeans with his dry and cracked hands, removing his thin jacket as a makeshift napkin.

Cuddy leapt from her stool and urged the man away, which he quickly complied with, happy to clumsily wade through the now semi-crowded establishment most likely in search of more liquor.

Beside her, House made absolutely no attempt to conceal his enjoyment of Cuddy's embarrassment. "At least you aren't wearing that white skirt, right?" offered House through a fit of laughter.

Cuddy sighed and looked down at her lap. She turned to make her way toward the ladies' room, ignoring the laughter from behind her all the way.

-----

Cuddy turned the faucet on and grabbed a handful of paper towels from the dispenser beside her. She wet the paper towels and began wiping at her soaked jeans, growing increasingly more pungent in smell. She could hear someone enter the restroom after her, but paid no mind to the intrusion—it was a public bathroom after all.

As she scrubbed away at her now uncomfortable jeans her mind wandered to House's motives. Why did he tell her Wilson was joining them when he obviously wasn't? What was he hoping to accomplish tonight? Before her thoughts could go any further a voice from behind broke her train of thought.

"Could I help you with that?" A blond woman of about the same height and build of Cuddy herself had entered the room with Cuddy and already began digging in her purse probably for a napkin or handkerchief.

"Oh, no I'm fine, thank you," responded Cuddy as she reached for another towel, only to find that the dispenser had gone empty. Cuddy sighed again and leaned with one hand against the sink, looking into her reflection against the mirror in front of her.

She didn't look hardly as bad as she felt, even under the harsh lights of the bar's bathroom. Her jeans were soaked almost down to the knee and she could feel the sticky liquid cold against her thighs. Her most obvious physical trait, she accepted, was the sling around her left shoulder. She had been wearing it for nearly a month now, and was getting used to it, but the memories it conjured always sent shivers down her spine. She picked up her right hand. It was wet. Why were public bathrooms always wet? She now had nothing to wipe her hand on and placed it back on the counter in defeat.

The woman placed one hand gently on Cuddy's right shoulder and extended her right hand to Cuddy. With a delicate, yet grateful smile Cuddy accepted the object, but before she could even look down at what the woman had given her, she was out the door as quickly as she entered, not even stopping to use the restroom. Confused and alone once again, Cuddy directed her eye line to the object enclosed in her palm. What she held was not a napkin as she suspected, but what resembled a note folded into printer paper. Quickly wiping her hand on her jeans, she unraveled the note.

-----

"It's getting late, House, we should go." Cuddy returned to the bar and urged House away from his drink.

"Why the rush?" asked House, patting his free hand on the cushion of the stool next to him, prompting Cuddy to sit back down. "If your pants are too uncomfortable now, just take them off." He held out a glass to her, then added sarcastically, "and don't worry about contracting any diseases, we'll wipe the stool after you're done using it."

Before Cuddy could respond, a voice entered the conversation from behind her.

"Hey guys, sorry I'm so late." Wilson rolled up in between Cuddy and House in his wheelchair with a cane nestled atop his lap. He picked up the cane and extended it to House.

The slick mahogany cane was exchanged wordlessly and Wilson continued his apology, "I had a little trouble getting out of the house."

Cuddy didn't question him, either because she knew that was a definite possibility due to his temporary lack of mobility, or because she was shocked at his presence at all—he showed up. House hadn't lied to her. She was happy to see Wilson, but at the same time she felt almost disappointed—why exactly she did not know, but she pushed the feeling aside for their new company's sake.

"So what did I miss?" began Wilson, who regretted the question immediately as House broke out into a devilish smile and he caught sight for the first time of the condition of Cuddy's jeans. How could he have missed that? He was sitting directly at eye level with Cuddy's lower half!

Cuddy brushed off the incident before House had a chance to incorporate his point of view. Luckily, House was engrossed in retrieving yet another drink and missed his opportunity.

Unexpectedly by either of the men, Cuddy leaned down and gave Wilson a quick, chaste kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for coming, Wilson, but I have to go."

She truly was sorry; they had not spent much time together for almost a month—any of them. Their schedules revolved around their physical therapy and recovery—much of which was spent in their own separate homes. This was probably the first time Wilson had been out of his house since he had been released from the hospital's care. Everyone, it seemed, beside House, Cameron, and Cuddy herself had taken time off work to recover.

House's facial reconstruction surgery had come and gone quickly, and his pain was quelled by his already elevated intake of vicodin. He had cut back, yes, but Cuddy reasoned it was because the new pain was a welcomed distraction from his damaged thigh.

Cameron had sustained virtually no injuries, and was spreading her good will by regularly visiting everyone, even Cuddy while she worked in her office.

Cuddy deemed herself extremely lucky to have not taken the bullet too close to any major artery or the bone of her clavicle to the extent of needing any major surgery. She was even almost to the point of removing her sling.

Foreman, Chase, and Wilson, on the other hand...

Foreman was the best off, Cuddy reasoned. He took a few days off for plenty of cuts and bruises. He could have worked through them, but Cuddy was feeling generous given the circumstances. She would have given him time off for emotional trauma if he asked. Chase, conversely, had broken the bones in his right arm and had been sporting a cast for the past month, but was back to work now, along with Foreman—still cast ridden, but working nonetheless.

The only doctor still away from work was Wilson. He had broken two vertebrae in his back and could hardly move from the trauma. He was currently, and had been since the incident occurred, wearing a full back brace and confined to a wheelchair to limit any painful movement within that particular region of his back. Luckily, no bone fragments were caught in his spinal canal, and his physical therapy was showing to be exceptionally promising. He was scheduled to be out of his wheelchair and back to work the next day—he would still be wearing the back brace, of course, until the bones healed on their own.

Cuddy pushed past the mass of people in the bar, making her way toward the exit. House and Wilson exchanged a glance before House stood from his seat with his new cane, leaving his old one behind. Wilson trailed behind slowly, resolving not to drink the night before he was expected to return to work.

House caught up with Cuddy as she was about to hail a cab. He had driven her there, and he would take her back. Well, _she_ would take them back because he had been drinking, but regardless, she was not taking a cab on his watch.

The night had not occurred as he had hoped it might, but what exactly he was expecting he had no clue. The only thing he did know was something happened while Cuddy was in the restroom, and he was going to find out what.

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**A/N**: Well, it seems to me that the infamous purple (blue?) button has become no longer a button, and much less purple, but green. Regardless, it still deserves some attention! Please Review, you know why! Oh, and if you want to push the purple button anyway, feel free :)

Come on y'all; let me know what you think! The action is promised to escalate soon! We all know first chapters are only a formality of introductions! I'm excited for more, how about you!?


	2. Familiar Faces

**A/N: **Thanks so much to _cecilee, DoctorLisaCuddy, notlupus, iwishiwerekerry, S.A. chic_ and everyone else who's reading! I love the warm welcome back, so I won't keep you waiting any longer!

**Disclaimer: **House, M.D. and its original characters still do not belong to me. They belong to David Shore and FOX.

**----------------------------------Chapter Two: Familiar Faces---------------------------------**

_Head east on Nassau St/RT-27 toward Princeton University_

_Turn right at Washington Rd_

_Turn right at Brunswick Pike/US-1_

_Take state Hwy 129 S _

_Exit toward S Broad St/I-195/1-295/Chambersburg_

_Merge onto RT-129_

_Slight left to stay on RT-129_

_Turn right at Cass St_

_Destination: 2__nd__ St & Cass St, Trenton, NJ _

Cuddy drove through the directions in her head as she re-read the mysterious note from the night before. She knew how to get to Trenton, but the particular street intersection she was unfamiliar with. Making a decision, Cuddy turned to her computer and searched the address. What she discovered surprised and confused her.

_State of New Jersey Adult Institutions: New Jersey State Prison_

Cuddy folded up the notorious scrap of paper and discarded it into the top drawer of her desk. There was only one person she knew of who was sentenced to this prison, and she had little desire to meet with him.

The clock on the far end of Cuddy's office struck noon and she took the invitation automatically. Grabbing her long red coat from the coat rack adjacent to the double doors of her office, she headed out to lunch, desperately pushing thoughts of guns and blood from her mind as she tucked the now inexplicably colored red jacket tighter around her torso.

-----

"So I take things didn't go well with Cuddy last night?" began Wilson as he sat at his desk with the posture of an Indian Chief, his back brace preventing him from bending even in the slightest.

House said nothing for a moment, spinning his cane between his fingers effortlessly with a thoughtful expression on his face, more interested now in Cuddy's behavior after she left the restroom than her first appearance at the bar.

"It went great!" started House in a false tone of excitement, "I got her wet before her first drink."

Wilson rolled his eyes at his friend. "I know you didn't call me at eight-thirty last night telling me to meet you at that bar because it was going great," explained Wilson, "why did she leave so suddenly?" he inquired, asking the same question House was currently pondering.

House's curiosity getting the best of him, he left Wilson without another word in the direction of Cuddy's office.

-----

Cuddy pulled up to the nearest bank after realizing she didn't have any cash on her and parked her car in a vacant space close to the door.

She mentally cursed the long lines and almost immediately turned around to walk out when she bumped into what seemed like a wall, but softer and much more supportive as its arms reached out to steady her by her shoulders.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the man quickly released Cuddy's injured shoulder.

"It's okay, it's my fault," Cuddy reassured the handsome man in front of her. Certainly it would have hurt much more to fall to the ground than be gripped by the shoulder. "You have very gentle hands," Cuddy spoke the statement without much thought and a blush immediately began to warm her cheeks.

The man smiled. It wasn't an awkward smile as Cuddy was expecting, but more genuine as if he truly enjoyed seeing Cuddy embarrassed. He didn't say anything for a moment and Cuddy took the time to take in this man's appearance for the first time.

She had collided into a strong chest covered with the softest leather jacket she had ever had the pleasure to feel. It was black with a red lining inside, which accentuated the darkness of his hair. The natural impulse to run her hands through his clean, soft looking hair overtook her, but she suppressed it. Trailing her eyes down, they made eye contact and Cuddy smiled without noticing her own action. His eyes were the most beautiful emerald green she had ever seen.

His smile had calmed down by now, but was still evident, allowing Cuddy a faint image of the dimples on each of his cheeks.

"I think you're next." The man's voice broke Cuddy's trance and she turned to see a blonde haired woman beckoning Cuddy to the counter.

Even more embarrassed than before, Cuddy turned and approached the counter, giving one last smile of thanks to the man behind her, wondering how long she had been staring at him for the line to dissipate so quickly.

The transaction occurred quickly, Cuddy's abstracted mind not noticing the familiarity of the blonde bank teller in front of her with the image of the blonde woman in the bar's restroom from the previous night.

Cuddy's state of mind recovered however, as the woman proceeded to count out much more cash into Cuddy's hand than she had withdrawn.

Cuddy had asked for the small sum of twenty dollars, and the woman was counting out the cash into Cuddy's hand as if she were dealing out a deck of cards.

"One, two, three, four, five..."

Cuddy watched as the woman placed hundred dollar bill after hundred dollar bill into her open palm.

"Oh, no, I asked—" Cuddy began her attempt at correcting the woman, but her gaze disrupted Cuddy's complaint.

They locked eyes and in that moment recognition flooded Cuddy's body like an unguarded wave crashing down upon her.

"You—"

Cuddy's accusation was cut short by the threat in the brown eyes of the blonde haired woman. As she succeeded in giving Cuddy two-thousand dollars cash the woman turned the sign on the counter to closed and walked away briskly.

"Hey, wait! Excuse me!" Cuddy leaned over the counter with her good arm and called for the woman to come back. A tug on the bottom of her jacket turned her attention downward. A small child tugged on Cuddy's jacket.

"Come on mommy, let's go!"

Cuddy's mouth dropped open in surprise and confusion. She looked around her for sight of anyone missing a child and was shocked even more as she realized the bank was empty.

The child took Cuddy by the pant leg and dragged her out of the bank. Cuddy stumbled along after the child, who let go of her suddenly and took off down the street in a sprint. Cuddy almost ran after the child, but decided against it, turning to go back into the bank and set things straight. But it was closed. The lights were out and the door was locked.

Cuddy automatically made her way to her car, placing the money in her purse without looking at it. She didn't know whether to be angry or scared. She felt as if she had taken part of something vastly illegal without her consent, but her confusion daunted her the most. First the directions to the prison; now this.

It must have been Michael's way of getting a hold of her Cuddy figured, but in her mind she refused to let that happen. What was done was done, and she had no intention of letting this escalate any farther.

She stopped dead in her tracks as she took in the condition of her car. All four tires were deflated.

-----

House wasn't surprised when he found Cuddy's office empty and unlocked. He was surprised though, when he found the folded up note in her top drawer.

House sat down and unfolded the note that had been treated under no special condition to be hidden away properly and scanned the words briefly.

He knew where the directions led. And somewhere in his mind he hoped Cuddy had family in prison, because if it was anyone else, it could only be one person.

House pocketed the note and left Cuddy's office in a hurry.

-----

_Will work for food_

Cuddy reached into her purse and took out the money that had been falsely given to her at the bank. Sure the sign most realistically meant _will do anything for drugs_ , but there was always the hope that he really was just a normal guy down on his luck, and such a large sum of money might be able to get this guy back up on his feet if he so decided.

Cuddy tossed all two-thousand dollars into this man's hat and watched as his face lit up, exposing cracked, yellowing teeth amidst a dirty face.

Cuddy continued walking. It wasn't like it was her money. The bank teller had not even typed Cuddy's information into the computer before dishing out all that money to her, therefore, in Cuddy's mind, she had nothing to loose, and the hobo had only everything to gain.

She finally made it to her destination—the sandwich shop down the road from the hospital. She was still hungry, and resolved the use her credit card to buy her lunch.

She had determined on the long walk over that she should eat and then go to the police station to turn in the lady at the bank, whose nametag she recalled read, _Jessica_. She didn't know what else to do. She had no intention of going to the prison to meet with a man who she had blocked from her mind indefinitely, and what else could possibly happen once the blonde haired woman was convicted? Life would be back to normal, and this woman, probably Michael's only outside connection, would be out of her life for good.

The only question that coiled Cuddy's insides was the reason for the money. Why not simply another note? Why go through all the trouble—

"Cuddy!"

Cuddy recognized the voice and took her sandwich to the table House was occupying. House pulled the note out of his pocket and slid it across the table to Cuddy. "Any chance this is a call for a conjugal visit?" asked House as Cuddy sat down across from him at the table.

Cuddy sighed without having to look at the note and they exchanged a wordless conversation with their eyes.

"We might have a problem," offered Cuddy sadly as she took a small bite from her sandwich. The strangely serious look from House's face was all she needed as she began to tell him the events of the last few minutes.

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**A/N**: Please let me know your thoughts! What I loved about writing _blood, sweat, and tears_ so much was that your reviews were all so helpful. You told me what you liked, you told me what you were confused about, you told me what you wanted, and you told me what was missing.

So what am I missing now? A catchy metaphor? :) Okay, here you go:

Your reviews are like dining utensils. I can't eat without them. I could use my hands, but that would get messy. And you don't want a messy story do you?!


	3. Counterfate

**A/N: **Thanks again for the reviews guys! They really inspire me a lot! Thanks also to all those who favorited and/or put this on story alert!

I would like to let you all know now that I try my best to make my stories accurate on every point that I am able to. But sometimes my dedication to detail and research falters. I don't know much about police procedure and such things, so I warn you in advance to ignore discrepancies if you just so happen to be a lawyer or a police officer...if you'd like to tell me where I went wrong and how the law actually works, feel free to do so in a review! Well, beside that, please enjoy the next chapter!

**Disclaimer: **see chapters one and two.

**----------------------------------Chapter Three: Counter-fate---------------------------------**

"I have to go to the police," Cuddy stood from the table, no longer hungry.

"And tell them what?" House stopped Cuddy in her tracks. "That you were given an obscene amount of money by a false banker? Sure that's bad for her, but what are you going to do when they ask for the money back?"

Cuddy hadn't thought of that. She blamed her lack of proper cognitive functions on her hectic situation. Being harrased my a maniac wasn't on her favorite things to do list. "Okay," she began, "no police. What can we do?"

House thought for a moment. "If Michael wants a reunion, let's give him one," he decided seriously.

Cuddy shot House a disbelieving look, filled with what House might have labled fear. "Or we could just ignore him. He's behind bars, what can he do there?"

"He's already sent out a mystery woman to do his bidding for him, and she's still on the loose. I think a better question is, what can _she_ do?"

Cuddy lowered her head in defeat. She should have realized there was no such thing as happy endings.

House stood up. "Let's head back to the hosptial first, I need to pick up something."

XXXXX

They arrived at the hospital via House's car and were stopped at the front door immediately by a worried Wilson.

"There's a cop waiting for you in your office," began Wilson. "What's going on?"

Cuddy's eyes widened at this information.

"Get back in the car," ordered House, handing the keys over to Cuddy.

Cuddy took them absentmindedly but refused to leave. "Maybe they know about Michael," started Cuddy hopefully.

"Michael?" Wilson sounded the name with a dreaded nostalgia. "What's going on?" he prompted again, "Did Michael get out of jail? I thought he was sentenced to life." He couldn't help the anger that memories conjured up within him.

"Have you ever had a pleasant experience with a cop? They don't know what's going on, unless the blame is directed toward you. Get in the car and drive to the prison. Wait for me before you go in." Without another word, House stepped into the hospital, beckoning Wilson to follow him.

Unsuspectedly, the officer met House face to face at the doorway.

"Good morning officer," House said in an extravagantly pleasant manner, attempting to distract the man before he noticed Cuddy. Unfortunately, they were parked in the administrator parking space only a few feet from the entrance. It went beyond saying that the cop noticed her.

"Excuse me! Dr. Cuddy?" The officer advanced toward the car before Cuddy had the opportunity to start the engine, and she sighed in defeat. "Would you step out of the vehicle please so we can talk?"

Cuddy got out of the car and walked toward the cop. "Yes, how may I help you?" asked Cuddy professionaly. "Do you need to investigate the hospital some more about last month's incident?" she asked, trying to differ any suspicion the cop may have about her innocence of any accusations.

"Acutally, Dr. Cuddy, I'm afraid I have to take you into the station."

Cuddy's heart constricted, "May I ask what for?" she tried to maintain her composure.

"Dr. Cuddy, you are now a prime suspect in a serious case involving the counterfeiting of the U.S. Treasury Department." He retrieved a set of handcuffs from his belt and gestured for Cuddy's cooperation in extending her wrists. She complied with a bit of hesitance and he cuffed her with ease. "You have the right to remain silent," he began robotically.

House stepped forward, but Wilson gripped his arm in an unspoken conversation.

"Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you at government expense." He led her to his police car and opened the back door for her. As her head was being guided in, she made eye contact with a very upset diagnostician.

As the cruiser disapeared, House exchanged a glance with Wilson and they took his car to the station.

XXXXX

"Why did you even come back to the hospital if you were on your way to the prison?" questioned Wilson as they parked in front of the Princeton Police Station.

"I had to get something from my office," answered House nonchalantly. "Let's go."

XXXXX

"We're here to post bail for Dr. Lisa Cuddy." House approached the counter confidently, intent on getting Cuddy out of this place even if the police don't get a chance to even question her.

The woman searched the computer for Cuddy's name. "She's not yet been processed sir, you can wait here if you'd like and I'll call you when she's ready to post bail."

"How long will that take?" asked Wilson from beside House.

"Routinely, we wait until the next day, but..." she checked the computer again. "Oh," she exclaimed almost inaudibly, "I'm sorry gentleman, but your friend has commited a serious infraction; she'll be in questioning for quite a while today, and even if you post bail, she'll not be able to leave the state and will most likely be placed under investigation."

"We'll wait," interupted House. Wilson was surprised by House's level of calmness. It seemed as if he were almost a different man from before the hospital was taken hostage; only in minor ways though that came to light only in intense moments like these. He was still well practiced in deceit, insults, hostility, and blackmail, but had recently been displaying a more considerate attitude toward himself and especially Cuddy. He'd differ any noticable suspicions in the form of sexual innuendos and the usual comments, but Wilson wasn't blind to the compassion House would display toward his boss in the slightest of actions. If only Cuddy weren't so blind.

XXXXX

After a thorough re-issuing of the verbal Miranda Warning Cuddy was sat down to questioning.

"Dr. Cuddy, a large amount of counterfeit money has been circulated and discovered by a local liquor store on Pine Street." The investigator filled Cuddy in on her circumstances. "What leads us to you is that your fingerprints were found on the money."

"Money passes through the hands of thousands of people; who's to say my prints are the only ones that matter?"

"Because your prints were the only ones found on the money. It was freshly conceived; it was either yours or the store clerk's who handled the money and turned it in." The detective leaned over the counter. "I know who you are Dr. Cuddy, and I respect what you do. I am also aware of your hospital's unfortunate situation about a month ago." He paused for a moment. "I'd like to hear your side of the story."

XXXXX

"Cuddy," House and Wilson were both surprised when Cuddy emerged from the back room almost an hour later. She was still accompanied by an officer, though.

The group met up together and the officer addressed her situation. "We take these types of offenses very seriously, but considering her record, we're not going to keep her for the night." He then addressed Cuddy, "We'll check on your story and apprehend the woman you spoke of if we ever encounter her, but for now you must not leave the state."

"Thank you," Cuddy replied sincerely.

"But," added the cop, "under Title eighteen of the United States Code, Section 3056, the Secret Service has jurisdiction to investigate you. Just a heads up, they probably will, so if you do go anywhere in the state, don't be gone too long."

Cuddy nodded another thanks as he departed back into the door they had appeared from.

"What the hell was that about?" questioned House as they all left the department together.

"That lady set me up. And I think that hobo who I gave the money to was in on it also." Cuddy thought, "My fingerprints were the only ones on the counterfeit bills. It seems to me like I didn't visit fast enough for Michael. He probably figured if I wouldn't come voluntarily, he would send me to jail of his own stipulations. The blonde woman must've been wearing gloves and I hadn't noticed; same for the homeless guy who was probably hired to spend the money and send it through the system with my prints on them."

"Damn..." Wilson shook his head slowly, "so what are you going to do?"

"How much gas do you have in your car?" Cuddy asked Wilson.

He answered knowingly, "enough."

XXXXX

A/N: _so next chapter they're going to meet with Michael for a little reunion House style. stay with me if you want to know what's going on this time around :D I'm so excited! OH, and a little heads up for all of you, I've been talking with ang catalonan about co-writing with this fic. I already have all the ideas I want to do, but she would help me a lot with incorporating the romance that I missed last time. Plust things might move a little faster (that's a big might though) If you don't know who ang catalonan is, check it out--one of my personal favorite authors, so no worries. Tell me all what you think! YOu know what to do!_


	4. Feelings

**A/N: **If you don't know me (which you probably don't) i'm not a people pleaser BUT i don't like to dissapoint either. its okay to light the match under my rear to get me going. i need that sometimes, so thanks to everyone who reviews and all that. Here's the next chapter :D

_pay close attention to the particular prisoners mentioned. i think i have a place for them later in the story. _

**Disclaimer:** I do not own House, M.D. or any of its original characters. They belong to David Shore and FOX.  
_  
(Prisoners mentioned within are based on real prisoners currently residing in New Jersey State Prison; facts and addendums have been inserted into or omitted from their personas)_

**----------------------------------Chapter Four: Feelings---------------------------------**

"Nervous?"

Two prison guards stood alertly against a red brick wall as they surveyed the courtyard of inmates.

"Not at all," the young dark haired guard responded to his partner. "Can't say the same for my wife though."

The older guard chuckled amusedly. "She'll never get used to it," he asserted, apparently knowing from experience. "There's not much to worry about; most of the inmates here are in for the short term--three to five years on average; ten at the most besides the few here for life," he generalized, "let me fill you in."

The older guard with the thin, yet stern face and greying hair pointed to an average looking man sitting alone on the bleachers at the far side of the courtyard. "That there's Robert Marshall," he introduced, "He's in for contract murder of his wife. He's a businessman; hang's out in the library a lot. According to him, his trial was contaminated by police misconduct and compromised testimony and evidence. But don't let his calm demeanor fool you--he's got the type of anger that's implosive. Keeps it bottled in then explodes all at once. He hasn't had an incident yet, but I know his type. He's got three years left."

He pointed to another man, involved in a game of basketball. "Jesse Timmendequas." He scratched the light stubble making its way down his neck. "four counts aggravated sexual assault; two counts of felony murder. Lured a seven year old girl into his home offering to show her a puppy. After raping her, he slammed her head into a dresser, put two plastic bags over her head and strangled her with his belt." He shook his head in disgust. "Dumped her body in Mercer County Park. He's the epitome of why the death penalty came to be. He was on death row until two years ago in December when the state abolished the death penalty. Now he's sentenced to life in prison without parole."

"And there," he gesticulated toward a largely built man near the weight lifting equipment. "Charles Cullen," he proclaimed. "Look out for him," he warned, "he's New Jersey's most prolific serial killer. He was raped by his father as a child and lost both parents early in his life. Formal naval officer. Admitted to over fourty-five counts of murder while working as a nurse in numerous New Jersey and Pennsylvania hospitals. It's not so much assault you have to look out for with him. He's attempted over twenty counts of suicide."

"Nervous yet?" The older guard nuddged the novice with his elbow.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I guess we'll have to see," he said. He checked his watch as another uniformed man approached. "Right now I've got visitation duty."

The approaching officer nodded his head in greeting. "Officer Terry."

The young officer nodded back as he was relieved and entered the building.

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The trio of doctors arrived at the prison in record time. Wilson turned the car off and they were left in silence. "This isn't right," started Wilson, "I have a weird feeling like we're walking into a trap."

"We can either walk and find out, or stay standing still and susceptible to whatever he has up his sleeve," reasoned Cuddy.

Wilson sighed in defeat, "I just can't shake this feeling."

"You can't shake at all," House piped in, referring to Wilson's restrictive back brace.

Cuddy opened her door and stepped out. Wilson and House took the cue and followed.

The prison was decorated near the entrance with cement encased plants and a matching cement entry way. Red bricks climbed the walls of the tall building which almost looked nothing like a prison.

"I'd like to see how this bastard likes his new home," House spoke up from closely beside Cuddy, breaking her of the trance she was in.

Cuddy took a breath and began to remove the sling around her shoulder supporting her left arm. She tossed the item back into the car and followed the men into the building.

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"We're here to see inmante Michael Wolfe." Cuddy addressed the heavy man at the counter, who grunted in response and gestured toward a round table near the window, prompting them to sit down and wait.

Silently, they took their seats and waited.

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"Hands in." Officer Terry cuffed the orange suited man from within the cell before he unlocked it and led the man down the long, silent hallway.

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A door opened, earing the doctors' attentions.

"Inmate Wolfe is ready for visitation." All three doctors stood simultaneously, causing the officer to raise one hand. "One at a time, please."

The three looked to one another for confirmation. "I'm going," Cuddy said first. "He obviously wanted me."

She was escorted by the guard before either Wilson or House; especially House, could offer any protest. Wilson could see House's jaw clench as his eyes followed her protectively across the room until the door cut off his view. Despite the circumstances, Wilson couldn't help but grin on the inside.

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The guard gestured toward a chair opposite a thick pane of glass and stopped to stand near the door. Cuddy walked slowly toward the chair and sat down, where she was met immediately by the face she had unintentionally committed to memory. He looked exactly the same with the exception of his prison style buzz cut and orange suite replacing his white button up and black blazer.

They simply maintained eye contact until Michael reached for the phone on the separating wall beside him and held it to his ear patiently.

She couldn't read his face. So she picked up the phone.

"How's the hospital?" began Michael in a monotone voice.

His at first indiscernable face upturned with a smirk and Cuddy felt like puching the glass in front of her. "What do you want?" she asked, venom being held back in her voice.

"If I told you I'd have to kill you."

The playful seriousness of his tone momentarily froze Cuddy. She made a move to stand and end the conversation, but Michael sensed this and his voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Wait..." Michael waited for Cuddy to put the phone back up to her ear. "You must hate me..." he started, "but I know you're the only one who can help me."

"What makes you think I want to help you," asked Cuddy.

"It's in your nature; it's why you're a doctor." He spoke despite Cuddy's head shaking side to side. "I told you he'd come back for me and he is," he reminded, "but I told you he'd come after you next, so if you don't care to save me, do it for yourself!"

Cuddy stopped him. She put both hands to the phone despite the strain it put on her shoulder and used the extra hand to create a funnel for her voice into the phone to keep her words from escaping into the guard's ears. "I would kill you myself if I had the chance. The odds of me saving you declined when you put the bullet in my shoulder, injured my friends, and destroyed my operating room--and that's only the tip of the iceburg."

Michael interupted, "that's not like you Dr. Cuddy, think about your hospital. We wouldn't want a repeat now would we?"

"I don't think you're in any position to threaten me."

Cuddy watched as the power fled from Michael's eyes and saw for the first time the desperation of a child lost in a mall without his mommy.

XXXXX

Wilson watched as House nervously bounced his cane up and down on the floor between his feet.

"You should ask her out again." Wilson's voice startled House.

"Again implies a beginning," diverted House.

"The bar was a date," defined Wilson, "admittedly a poor choice, even for you, but a date nonetheless."

House continued bouncing his cane, earning himself a dissaproving glare from the overweight man behind the front desk, who turned up the volume on his miniature television set.

"How can you think of dating at a time like this?" questioned House, "have you done a prison chick before or something? Or does this place bring up other memories," he lifted an eyebrow, "what haven't you told me?" he prompted playfully.

"Stop avoiding the subject," caught Wilson, "I've seen you change after what happened." He didn't let House interupt. "I'm surprised you haven't made a bigger move yet. I know you realized you could have lost her! If that doesn't spark your nerves, I don't know what will."

Wilson watched House's facial expression change once realization dawned on him once again that he could have lost Cuddy.

Wilson spoke one last time. "I know what it's like to lose someone." His voice softened, "you don't want to feel that kind of pain."

XXXXX

"I was only a pawn," admitted Michael, "any grudge you have against me can be reversed to him. I am nothing to lose sleep over," Michael stood up from his chair, "but he IS!"

The guard stood, and Michael sat back down obediently.

"So you want me to get you out?" Cuddy asked incredulously. "Even if you got out on your own before he found you, he'd still come after me if what you're saying is correct."

"I know people who can protect you," he offered quickly--almost too quickly for Cuddy's liking, "people who can take him out, but I can't do it here."

Cuddy shook her head once more. "I won't be a part of this."

"You don't have to be," argued Michael. "I have another trial coming up soon; you can testify that I was medically insane due to..." he thought, "I don't know--you're the doctor," he continued, "I'll get out and take care of everything myself. I'll be safe, you'll be safe, and you'll never see me again," he promised.

Cuddy was silent. "You belong here," Cuddy proclaimed hotly, "I won't lie for you and I sure as hell can't trust you." Cuddy stood up, still holding the phone, "and one more thing," she added, "the police are on to you and your girlfriend," she said, referring to the anonymous blonde lady, "tell her to leave me alone and we'll be just fine."

She hung up the phone, causing Michael to jump to his feet and gesticulate wildly toward the phone she had just hung up. He knocked on the glass, making no audible noise while Cuddy left the room with her guard. She looked over her shoulder at the last second to see him being restrained by another guard, mouthing words she couldn't read through the soundproof glass; eyes filled with fear and ...anger.

Was it really over? Or was there some truth behind his words?

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House was the first to stand as Cuddy reappeared. "What did he say?"

Cuddy ran through the conversation, ending with a commentary on the desperation she felt in his voice and the indiscernable rage the meeting ended with, missing the calm and contemplative, silent scrutiny Michael's gaze held prior to the beginning of their conversation.

"He's full of it," House commented as they exited the building.

"What do you think, James?" Wilson lifted his eyes to Cuddy's. He'd been silent the whole time.

"You know that feeling I had," he questioned.

Cuddy nodded for him to continue.

"...it's making me hungry."

House took the keys from Wilson and moved to the driver's side of the car. "He's desperate," announced House, concerning Michael, "what he's arguing doesn't even make sense. If he had guys like he claims he does, he'd be using them instead of that blonde woman."

Cuddy added, "maybe that's all he needs. Not only did he use that woman, he had the bum, the," she thought, "the guy who spilled beer on my jeans, some little kid who distracted me, and someone to flatten my tires while I was occupied." She ran her hand over her face, "it seems like he has the whole community in his hands somehow."

"Cuddy, stop," House ordered. "He's in Prison," he said slowly, emphasizing the word 'prison'. "If you see that lady again, call the cops; it's as simple as that."

Cuddy made a move to speak again, but House didn't allow her the opportunity. "Let's go get some food."

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A/N: _Michael's intentions and plan of action complete with motives will be announced later. You all know problems don't go away just because you ignore them! So what will happen next!? only i know the answer ;D keep reading to find out! keep reviewing to keep me motivated! this is actually really easy to write just like last time--I just need you guys to poke and prod me or else I get wrapped up in school like I'm wearing blinders._


	5. Criminal Company

A/N: Much more action to come. This is just going to set up things a little, you know how it is...don't worry, things will speed up soon enough! Please enjoy!

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Michael slowly surveyed the prison courtyard, eyes narrowed in concentrated thought. He took a deep breath to relax his muscles as he approached a lone man on the far side of the blacktop.

He sat on the empty space beside him on the bleachers observing the worn basketball court. Heat waves accentuated the primitiveness of the scene.

"Michael Wolfe." Michael extended his hand to the inmate beside him.

The man turned his head and accepted the hand with a shake of ease and confidence known and practiced only of a business man. "Robert Marshall," he introduced.

The men inspected each other up and down, sizing each other up, until Michael spoke. "What are you in for?"

Marshall looked out over the basketball game and again at Michael before he spoke. "I hired a man to kill my wife," he explained, then added quickly, "supposedly."

Both men gave a chuckle.

"How long?" questioned Michael, regarding his sentencing.

"Doesn't matter," he interjected offhandedly. "See, I've been studying my case." He wiped a stream of sweat from his brow. "I have another trial scheduled for Tuesday."

He spoke no more and Michael continued the conversation.

"I've seen you in the library," he reminisced. "And you seem confident in your upcoming trial, so it must be safe to say you're an intelligent man."

Marshall didn't speak.

"But I also presume," Michael continued and edged closer to the man deviously, "that you're not fond of these bleachers because of the way the sun hits at every angle."

The thin man named Marshall watched as a bead of sweat trickled down over the long bridge of his nose until it hit the metal platform at his feet.

Michael continued. "Nor is it because you just so happen to be the lone wolf you pretend to be in a vain effort of self-preservation..." Michael was now shoulder to shoulder with his new acquaintance Robert Marshall, intellectual snake of the judiciary system, and could feel his fear as much as his discomfort. "You're scared, but the only way to survive in here isn't by way of avoiding all contacts here."

Marshall inwardly hissed as something sharp was pressed against his back, low on his spine.

"Shh," Michael coaxed firmly. The object twisted lightly against the fabric of his orange jumpsuit as Robert Marshall attempted to escape. His efforts were in vain as both men knew because not only was Michael's foot crossed over his ankle, if he were to run he would receive unwanted attention meaning an unwanted target on his back.

Michael grinned. "Tuesday won't come soon enough for you my friend."

Michael's words were mimicked by his action of draping his arm around Marshall's shoulder. Of course this released the sharp pressure against his back, but the threat was still present in Michael's hand.

Just as he had thought it, Marshall found himself on the brink of screaming out loud. His right ear was being sliced open and an erratic stream of blood was slowly tainting the orange fabric over his right shoulder and down his chest. The pain stunned him paralytic, but as he found the sense to run and the impulse to fight, Michael's voice became the voice of reason.

"Don't fight it Robert," Michael dug his makeshift weapon deeper as the pressure became more necessary to cause damage. "We wouldn't want to draw attention would we?"

Marshall groaned high in his throat and his body tensed all over. The pressure subsided, but the pain persisted.

Michael sighed contently. "Let's talk."

XXXXX

Was it paranoia? Lack of sleep? The desperation in Michael's eyes?

Whatever it was, it alerted Cuddy's senses to an all time high. Her muscles would tense when a nurse dropped a pen, a chill would creep up her spine every time the phone rang; her breathing would slow if a patient looked about the hospital in any way other than that of boredom, sadness, or nervousness.

She told herself there was nothing to worry about, especially since the hospital had increased its budget to include payroll for an extra lineup of security officers to patrol both day and night.

As Cuddy made her way down the halls her eyes connected with one of these men and they exchanged a customary nod before continuing on their own business.

Her work day was officially over, but the thought of returning home was low on her list of things she looked forward to doing, and somehow in her trance like state she had managed to find her way in front of House's office.

He wouldn't be in at this hour, but for some reason she couldn't help but feel safer here. She opened the door to the darkened office which he never bothered to lock and stepped inside.

"Looking for something?"

Cuddy jumped in place and quickly fumbled for the light switch. She caught her breath and regained her composure at the sight of House, lounging in the chair at the corner of his office, his feet propped up on the ottoman.

"You're still here?" she managed to get out, trying not to notice the amused smirk which had crept onto House's face.

"Ongoing case," explained House without further explanation. "Were you looking for something," he repeated.

"No," she answered, "were you waiting for something?" she countered. "I know you haven't had a case for three weeks."

House sat up straighter and slid his feet over to open up a space on the ottoman. He patted the open space with his left hand.

Cuddy obliged with the unspoken invitation and sat down. It had been a long day and her feet wouldn't let her respond in any other way.

"I was waiting for you."

His answer shocked her almost as much as his voice had when she wasn't aware of his presence. Was that honesty in his voice?

"Wh..." Cuddy attempted to question him, but didn't know where to start. He removed his feet completely now and sat on the edge of his seat so that they were mere inches apart.

"Patient presented with sudden bouts of confusion after a traumatic event. Now suffers from anxiety and restlessness induced by stimulus of the toxin prisonerus michaelous."

"Your patient," grinned Cuddy.

House shrugged. "Woman in her mid forties, no history of disease in her family, although she does have an extra ass chromosome," Cuddy rolled her eyes, "and an unhealthy habit of obsessing over protecting her hospital."

"If I'm the obsessed one, then why are you hanging around after hours in a darkened office trying to diagnose a perfectly healthy patient?"

"The term perfect is debatable; however the fact that I'm not alone in my darkened office is not." House became more serious. "He can't hurt you here." Cuddy sighed—from exhaustion or relief he couldn't tell. "I won't let him."

House brushed Cuddy's cheek lightly with his hand as he looked deep into her eyes. He'd be dead before he let anyone hurt her ever again. The thought of how he'd let her safety slip as she was shot in the operating room flashed briefly across his mind and he pushed it away, instead thinking of Wilson's advice to finally tell her how he felt about her.

"He's planning something," Cuddy stated softly, not fully convinced of her own word's validity because she was too entranced by the proximity of the man before her. "He..."

Suddenly, the lights went out. All in one swift cut of power, the two doctors were left blinded in the darkness.

Cuddy's mind immediately began racing through all the possibilities—power outage, weather disturbance, reckless teenagers, accident within the city cutting off a major power line, terrorists, gunmen, Michael's forewarnings coming to fruition!

Her fears were extinguished though as she was reminded of House's hand on her face, and the new pressure of his lips on hers. She didn't need light to know what was happening now and was no longer worried about what would happen later. All that mattered to her now was that she was for the time being alone with House, and she couldn't feel safer.

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A/N: Reviews are much appreciated!


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